More Than His Master
by Blancwene
Summary: Seven vignettes describing, through contrasting prose styles, the relationship between ObiWan Kenobi and Anakin Skywalker. Master and Apprentice. Teacher and Pupil. And perhaps even something akin to Father and Son. Part IV up!
1. The Education of Anakin Skywalker

**AN**- Back when I wrote _Simple Words_, several people said that I should continue writing more Ani/Obi viggies. Well, I finally got my bum in gear and came up with a series of slightly related vignettes. All contain Anakin Skywalker and Obi-Wan Kenobi; all of them explore, through various prose styles, their relationship of Master and Padawan. _Simple Words_ has been included because several of the other stories will reference back to it. Enjoy!

**--MORE THAN HIS MASTER--  
**_The Education of Anakin Skywalker  
Simple Words_  
_Ordinary Day  
__I Hate Nerf  
__Memories of Home  
__Portrait of a Stubborn Padawan  
__Seller of Dreams_

* * *

**Part I- The Education of Anakin Skywalker**

_0755 Galactic Standard Time_

I have asked Anakin to stop by my quarters today for a preliminary lesson. I thought it would be best to establish how much my Padawan knows about the Force and the role of the Jedi, so I may adjust my teaching plans accordingly. Anakin was told to arrive promptly at 0800; that way, I can utilize all available time to properly instruct him in his expected duties as my apprentice.

Nearly time. Perhaps I should go over my notes again to assure myself that I am truly prepared for all of his questions.

_0757 GST_

What if he asks me about the Force's origin? I know several of the more dominant theories, but nothing absolute. Is it acceptable to offer complicated hypothesizes to a nine-year-old? Or should I speak simply, using generalizations that even a youngling could understand?

Dammit, I wish Qui-Gon were here.

_0758 GST_

Or what if he doesn't understand the extra-dimensional perspective of the Force? I don't even know how an "energy field" can exist outside of time and space. How do I explain something I've never been able to comprehend?

_There is no emotion, there is peace. There is no ignorance, there is_ . . .

Sithspit.

_0759 GST_

I need to calm myself down. This is my first lesson, after all. Anakin wouldn't be so cruel as to torture a newly-minted Knight with obscure inquiries into the nature of the universe. He's nine years old. He's the chosen one. He can't be _that_ evil . . .

Could he? Perhaps the Sith influence that we are searching for is lurking beneath the seemingly innocent face of a little boy. Master Yoda has purposefully sent me to my doom. In a few weeks' time, I'll either be dead and decaying or mad and mumbling.

Insanity strikes me as a horrid fate – although a violent death, while quicker, doesn't sound any better.

That reminds me, I never noticed before that a large number of "d" words carry negative connotations: dead, death, dying, decaying, deceased, doomed, damned, destruction, devastation, drunken . . .

_There is no passion, there is serenity._

I highly doubt that. Serenity is too difficult for an ordinary person to attain. I'm not exceptional, just . . . average. Thus, I can never actually _be_ serene.

I merely give off the appearance of calmness.

_0800 GST_

Amazing. Panic can sometimes be a refreshing experience. I feel a little better now that I've recorded some of my nervous qualms. Maybe Qui-Gon was right – all that internal pressure will wreck havoc with my usually implacable temperament. But fortunately, tension can be safely released in a quiet, solitary environment.

Not that I'll have much time alone to myself when Anakin and I return to Coruscant. Then I will be stuck with him – all day – every day – until the Jedi Council eventually promotes him to Knighthood and I am left witless and weary while -

Concentrate, Obi-Wan.

Well, I think I will let my lesson take a natural course; I can begin with a short oral quiz, then allow Anakin to voice any questions he may have concerning the Jedi Order for the remainder of the time. A very casual, non-threatening atmosphere will help my Padawan focus on his new life but also give me enough pre-planned structure to incorporate essential facts into our dialogue.

I could start by asking him if –

The door!

Breathe. I am a thoughtful, mature being. I am calm. I am cool. I can handle the authority now resting on my shoulders.

_0802 GST_

What has happened to young people today? Do they lack the decency – the common, considerate decency – to arrive precisely when they have been summoned and not irritate their elders with false alarms and prank calls? I do not have unlimited free time with which I can indulge the childish delusions of people who obviously enjoy annoying a Jedi Knight.

For instance: Ringing someone's door chime and then running away in a giggling fit is _not_ polite behavior. Yet apparently not. I rushed to answer the door, and was greeted by the retreating forms of two teenage girls.

I'm half tempted to inform Theed Palace security of the culprits' blatant disrespect towards . . . hmmm . . . the innocent individuals who expect invited guests on their doorstep but instead discover female mischief makers. I found it extremely irksome.

Two minutes late. Where is Anakin?

_0809 GST_

Something rather odd just occurred. My door chime sounded, and I immediately opened it, hoping I'd catch the naughty Naboo delinquents in the middle of their not-quite-illegal but very-very-infuriating act. Instead, an unfamiliar man stood in the hallway.

I told him good morning, but he just stood there and stared intensely at a vein in the marble flooring. Finally, after nearly a minute of silence, he looked me in the eye and said, "Is the Force with you?"

"I don't know," I answered, slightly confused.

"Well, you better look for it," he declared before walking off to whence he came.

What does that mean? Was that man a messenger, sent from the Force to tell me that I shouldn't train Anakin? Or was his announcement delivered with a more malicious intent? Could that have been a death threat?

Perhaps I should cancel my lesson with Anakin. I do not want my apprentice to fall victim to a Sith assassination attempt.

_0814 GST_

Ha. Ha. Ha.

Ahem.

I have realized that man was purposefully confusing me. He must have thought it a joke. However, it was _not_ a laughing matter to make me cast doubt upon the will of the Force. I've now wasted five minutes meditating to gain insight into the matter.

Minutes I could have spent tracking down my prodigal Padawan. Anakin is nearly a quarter of an hour late. And really, there are not any logical reasons for this tardiness. He is staying down the hall. Surely eleven minutes is enough time to travel the twenty meters from his door to mine.

Unless the Palace has suddenly transformed into a minefield. Which is possible, but extremely unlikely.

_0819 GST_

Personal interaction is highly overrated.

In my 25 years of existence, I have dealt with countless clueless idiots, clueless geniuses, sadistic idiots, and sadistic geniuses. Those experiences have led me to the conclusion that most sentient beings are hopelessly self-absorbed.

A hermit's life doesn't seem that bad. I could ponder the Force's mysteries and secrets without being interrupted at critical moments by – by –

Sithspit. I'm losing control of my emotions again.

Deep breath in – count to fifteen – exhale.

Repeat.

Focus on the present, let future worries fly away.

Repeat.

_0820 GST_

My temper is greatly improved. When we return to Coruscant, I must tell Mistress Yaddle that her foolproof relaxation techniques truly are . . . um, foolproof.

Concerning my recent outburst: I was patiently waiting for Anakin to arrive when my door chime rang. I sprang to my feet and slapped the unlocking mechanism, ready to deliver a lengthy lecture on the virtues of timeliness, when I noticed that an inebriated Gungan was slumped against my doorframe.

"May I help you?" I asked as politely as I could – but it was difficult for me to maintain a pleasant attitude. I _hate_ Gungans.

"Mesa sickum."

"Oh, how lovely."

The Gungan blinked at me unsteadily. "Mesa need meckasin."

I looked about for a security guard who could direct the drunk back to his party, but there were none in sight. I had to help the creature – the Jedi Code states that "one must always assist those in need." But I really, really didn't want anything to do with another grammatically-challenged water dweller.

"I'm sorry, but I don't have any medicine. If you will just allow me to escort you back to the other members of your group—"

"Meckasin, docta man! Yousa alway have meckasin!"

"Excuse me?"

The Gungan rolled its eyes lazily and shook its ears. "Yousa da docta man! Yousa gimmesa meckasin."

At that instant, many very inappropriate rejoinders popped into my head. But I am not a Jedi for nothing. Stifling my annoyance, I smiled forcedly and pointed further down the hall. "I am not a physician. I am a Jedi Knight. But if you turn left by the red door you will find yourself in a first aid station. I am sure that the workers there will be able to provide you with the proper things. Good day, and goodbye."

"Meckasin!"

"Not here! Listen to what I am saying, please. Just keep on walking and you will find assistance. And if you see a blond boy in Jedi robes, tell him that his Master is peeved with him."

I turned the Gungan towards the exit and quickly shut the door.

For the Force's sake, I don't think this day can get any worse.

0827 GST 

Is the phrase "come at 0800" really that ambiguous? I thought I had clearly given Anakin the exact time of our lesson, but apparently not.

Am I unintelligible? Is my grasp of Basic so faulty that I cannot properly express what I am trying to say?

Why couldn't I have been born into a normal life? Being a Jedi is much too complicated.

0830 GST 

This is the final piece of the pie. I will not wait any longer for this inattentive boy to appear. I am taking matters into my own hands.

I'm contacting Anakin's room.

0831 GST 

Anakin came onscreen immediately, looking rather puzzled. "Hey, Master. Anything wrong?"

I kept my expression blank. "Did you forget something today?"

"Uh, I dunno. Not that I know of."

I raised an eyebrow. "Interesting. You had no appointments scheduled for early this morning, about 0730 or 0800?"

His blue eyes clouded over for a second, then he shook his head. "Nope. I'm being privately congratulated by the Queen and Senator Palpatine today, but that's not till 1600 or so. Why?"

"I was under the impression that you had a lesson today."

"Tomorrow."

I blinked. "Pardon?"

Anakin nodded vigorously. "I so remember. You're teaching me tomorrow about Force stuff, right?"

"I . . . um . . . "

"Cause I've been studying up on those midichlorians, and they're sorta hard to understand. I mean, how could microscopic organisms contain the Force, but not anything else living? And how can Jedi move trees and stuff if the midichlorians are inside them? Are there more midichlorians floating around in the atmosphere and in space?"

I snapped my jaw shut and tried to look firm. "I am glad you are preparing yourself. However, I'm currently busy, so keep your questions until tomorrow."

He smiled. "Really? Gosh, Obi-Wan, I wish I knew as much as you."

I ended the connection and groaned.

There is no death . . .

Excessive worrying and other minor personality flaws aren't that bad – they can't kill me, only make me miserable.

There is the Force . . .

No. The Force is a bloody nuisance. I don't need the Force.

I need a calendar.

FIN

* * *

NEXT- _Simple Words  
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	2. Simple Words

**--MORE THAN HIS MASTER--**  
_The Education of Anakin Skywalker  
__Simple Words  
__Ordinary Day  
__I Hate Nerf  
__Memories of Home  
__Portrait of a Stubborn Padawan  
__Seller of Dreams_

* * *

**Part II- Simple Words**

I always knew he was capable of it. Anakin Skywalker, no matter what others had tried to say, was no innocent angel. His tough upbringing on Tatooine, combined with his unusual heritage and his painful separation from his mother, provided some insight into the situation.

That didn't make it any more acceptable, or any less of a shock.

It started out ordinarily enough. We were seated at the kitchen table in our quarters, munching on a quick dinner before an "unannounced" visit from Mace Windu. I knew the Jedi Master was coming; Anakin was unaware that the dreaded man was stopping by. But despite that, it was still an average day. There was nothing bizarre about broiled nerf, stewed tubers, sweet rolls, and a fruit salad. The meat was a tad too tough, and the tubers a little mushy, but like all examples of my cooking, it was tolerable.

Then it happened: Anakin's abominable act. I still look back on the event with a kind of fatherly dismay.

My Padawan was impatient as usual, plowing through his meal like he used to speed through Beggar's Canyon "back home." I had attempted to slow his consumption rate a few weeks earlier, but my efforts were met with a ten-year-old's obstinacy. I eventually decided that if he wanted to inhale his food and risk the chance of choking to death, that was his choice. A possibly deadly one, but it didn't bother me.

Anakin grabbed the basket of rolls and tried to stuff a slab of nerf in his mouth at the same time. Naturally, something had to go wrong. His elbow connected with the open bottle of hot-sauce, and the container flew off the table, shattered on the floor, and sent glass shards and dark oily liquid flying against the pristine white wall.

It was a disaster. And the dialogue that followed was even more devastating. The boy stared at the mess, then opened his mouth . . . and swore. "Shavit! Stupid, kriffin' thing!"

My jaw must have been hanging somewhere around my waist, because he quickly turned the same hue as a Sith blade, and those big blue eyes widened to the size of my fists. "Oops."

I regained my composure, and simply glared at him coldly. "Where did you learn those words?"

Anakin looked at me guiltily, and scrunched his face up into a phony expression of confusion. I wasn't fooled. "Huh? What are you talking about?"

I sighed, and moved to clean everything up. Only last week, Anakin had gauchely broken a Sluissi sculpture that Adi had given to me; at least I knew how to use the powerful cleaning agents hidden under the refresher sink. I had a feeling, though, that scouring this spill was going to be worse than picking up shards from a crystalline figure. This might take some time. "You know what I mean, my young Padawan. I'm referring to those two curse words that you uttered a moment ago."

"Oh. Well, everyone says them."

I raised a questioning eyebrow. "Everyone? That is not true. The Jedi Code specifically says that we should be 'pure, and free of the influences of the outer world.' "

"Come on. You've swore before," he sputtered, agitatedly shredding his napkin into tiny fragments. "When you were in a hard situation, or faced with some scary problems, you had to have said a few bad words."

I scrubbed the floor viciously, and searched the white surface for any stray crimson specks of sauce. Anakin was being cheeky, and I wasn't about to unfold my whole life history over a plate of over-cooked meat and soggy roots. He knew enough of my past for the time being. Besides, I had the feeling he wasn't being absolutely upfront with me. My Padawan was hiding something behind those inquisitive eyes; why else would he be so interested in whether I'd cursed or not? Looking him straight in the eye, I shook my head sternly and moved on to cleaning the wall. "Jedi do not use profane language."

"But you didn't answer my question!" He eyed me curiously, and I could visualize the gears turning inside his childish mind. He gasped, and looked at me slyly. "You _have_ cussed! You just don't want to admit it."

"You didn't ask a question, my impatient Padawan. You merely stated that I've used foul language in the past. I had no room to answer." I wiped the wall one last time, then stood slowly. Dinner was not the time to discuss the ethics behind moral behavior. Anakin and I would talk about this some other time, when I would be prepared for all his inquiries. "This conversation is over."

Groaning, he slumped in his chair and began to pout. I always hated when he did that. It was such an immature, selfish gesture, and it grated on my nerves. He knew it annoyed me, and yet he persisted on utilizing it to his benefit. I couldn't stand his dearth of self-control, his absence of anything and everything that the Jedi have always stood for. When I was his age, I would have never goaded my Master into such a predicament. But then again, I wasn't even apprenticed to Qui-Gon at ten years old. I was still a lowly youngling, lacking an authority figure to guide and direct me onto the path of true servility. Oh wait. There was Yoda, and Mace Windu. And that irritatingly serious Jedi Master, who had an unpronounceable name and one eyebrow. He's probably dead now. Most of the taciturn members of the Jedi Council have fortunately passed on to the other side. May they rest in peace, and help my neglected brain cells focus on something important.

Anakin continued to make that infuriating expression, his bottom lip extended several centimeters out from the upper and his eyes containing an odd mixture of sorrow and humor. Couldn't he find something else to do than annoy his wise Master? My famous composure was beginning to crack, so after five minutes of mind-boggling wanderings, I gave in. "Fine. I have cursed a few times. But only because I was in a very dangerous place, and didn't have any other way to express my emotions. That doesn't mean you are allowed to use inappropriate language, though, my young Padawan."

He sat up swiftly, a silly smile spreading across his freckled face. "Ha!" he crowed triumphantly. "I knew it! Tru owes me five credits."

I felt an uncomfortable twisting in the pit of my stomach. A ten-year-old Jedi apprentice had tricked me. The whole story began to make sense to me, and I winced at my own stupidity. I had much to learn about the sneakiness of children. "You did that on purpose, just to find out if I've ever used bad words, so you could win a bet with another Padawan?"

"Yep," he said, grinning widely, but with a hint of realization entering his face. "I really had you going for a bit."

"Undoubtedly," I remarked wryly. I didn't know what was hurting worse: my maturity or my pride. "But I do know something that you don't."

Anakin looked up, his attention piqued. He looked so innocent, so silly at that moment. I tried not to smile evilly, and barely succeeded. "What?"

Mace couldn't have entered at a better time. I rose to my feet slowly, and headed for the door. "Oh, good day, Master Windu! Padawan Skywalker and I were just finishing dinner. I believe he has some questions to ask you concerning the Jedi Code's restrictions on gambling and inappropriate behavior."

As the man approached, I leaned forward and muttered a few words in his general direction. But I also took care to ensure that Anakin could understand the whole conversation. "My apprentice needs a good lesson on how provoking one's master can only lead to trouble. I remember in particular the tale of Master Hallep, who was dismissed from the Jedi Order after she . . . unorthodoxly . . . disposed of an unruly Padawan," I said, hoping that this chat alone would lessen the pain of humiliation at the hands of a ten-year-old. "So take your time."

The horror-struck look on Anakin's face as I walked into the hall was payment enough.

FIN

* * *

NEXT- _Ordinary Day  
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	3. Ordinary Day

**--MORE THAN HIS MASTER--**  
_The Education of Anakin Skywalker  
__Simple Words  
__Ordinary Day  
__I Hate Nerf  
__Memories of Home  
__Portrait of a Stubborn Padawan  
__Seller of Dreams_

* * *

**Part III- Ordinary Day**

"Anakin . . ."

"Nerfandmuffins."

"Anakin, wake up."

"Jawastewing."

"Anakin, it is quite obvious that you are only feigning sleep."

"Jedibums."

"I find that offensive, Anakin."

"Shough."

"Very well. I gave you advance warning."

"Gornt . . . Aah! Too bright, too bright!"

"My sleepy young padawan, it is only the sun. A beautiful day awaits outside this darkened cave that you call a bedroom."

"It . . . hurts!"

"That tends to happen when you stare straight into the sun. If you continue, you might be blinded."

"At least then I wouldn't have to see _you_ every morning."

"Anakin, that is cruel."

"No, just true."

"You are currently very grumpy, my exasperating young padawan. I hope fifteen minutes will be enough time for you to recover your normally cheerful disposition."

"I'm _not_ grumpy! I'm . . . fifteen minutes?"

"Yes."

"Master, why fifteen minutes?"

"Because the Jedi Council has requested to speak with us. If they call, we must answer."

"But . . . but . . . we just got back from a mission! Five days ago!"

"Such is the life of a Jedi, my flustered young padawan."

Grumbling noises.

"Anakin, is that foul language I hear?"

"No."

"Anakin . . ."

"Master, I've learned that lesson already. No swearing, no gambling, no stealing, no outright lying. Pure and strong of spirit am I. Where's my clean tunic?"

"Outright lying?"

"Come on, Obi-Wan, I was being serious."

Muffled laughter.

"I mean, all Jedi have to tell a few fibs sometimes. What if I found myself in a hostage situation and the people told me to turn over my weapon? There's nothing wrong with saying, 'Oh, I'm unarmed,' and then swooping in with my lightsaber and saving lives, right?"

"You don't have a lightsaber yet."

"It was a possible scenario. But imagine that Master Windu either has to tell the truth and watch 50 civilians die, or lie and preserve the peace. There's nothing in the Jedi Code to forbid him from lying. Correct?"

"It depends."

"That's what I was trying to say. Hmmm. This tunic doesn't smell too bad. Do you think Master Yoda will notice the juice stain on the collar?"

"Undoubtedly. Master Yoda is very observant."

"Sithspit. And that's not a curse! It's an acceptable way to show anger and disgust."

"I did not say anything, Anakin."

"But you were _thinking_ it. I could tell. You had a weird strangled look on your face."

Rummaging sounds.

"Obi-Wan, did you take my robe to the cleaners or something?"

"No. I informed you two months ago that you must deal with your own laundry. You must learn to take on increasing responsibilities as you mature."

"But I never have any time to drop my stuff off. I'm much too . . . busy."

"Doing what, my recanting young padawan?"

"Um . . . meditating. Seeking the Force's guidance. Honing my skills and abilities. Trying to follow your excellent example, Obi-Wan."

"You did not mention all the time you have wasted recently—"

"Enlightening myself?"

"Hmm. I didn't know that watching holodramas was now considered an educational activity."

"Of course! The other night, I saw _A Matter of Life or Death_, and ittaught me many important things. Like . . ."

"Like never to wear a stained shirt with a rumpled robe?"

"Yes. Wait. You're making fun of me, Master."

"I am merely stating a fact. And you have squandered the past few minutes chatting about aimless topics, so only ten minutes remain, my distracted young padawan."

Silence.

Kitchen cabinets opening.

Kitchen cabinets closing.

Kitchen cabinets opening again.

Kitchen cabinets closing again.

"Where's some food?"

"In the cabinet you just shut."

"Oh."

Chewing noises.

"You might also consider maintaining a state of general hygiene, Anakin."

"Mm-wha?"

"Stuffing your mouth with sugar-loaded pastries is all very well, but you would be performing a common courtesy for others by removing your current bodily stench."

"Mm. I dwon't stwink-mm!"

"Anakin, I can smell you across the room. You do not need a protective layer of grime on your skin to survive. In fact, it is a scientific truth that cleanliness reduces the amount of foreign bacteria on one's clothing and body, and thus keeps one in good health."

"Cannawhennamunchup."

"Swallow, then repeat, please."

Gulping sounds.

"I'm eating. I don't have time to shower."

"You have seven minutes. Surely you can hop in the refresher and rinse yourself off in that time span."

"Fine. Fine. You know what? I'll take a shower. And I bet _no one_ will notice."

"Anakin, what have I told you about . . ."

"Master, it doesn't count as gambling unless I actually set forth my wager. I was just using it metaphorically. Anyone would know that."

"I didn't."

"Well, you take things too literally sometimes."

"As opposed to what, my dawdling young padawan?"

"As opposed to thinking more metaphorically. Figuratively. Basing your decisions on abstract ideas, not concrete evidence."

"Hmm. Have you been reading my datapads on rational deliberation?"

"No! Why would I ever read when I could watch amusing holodramas and . . . OK, once. I couldn't get past the first chapter. Too much philosophical mumblings about the nature of Light and Dark for me. And I'm going into the refresher now, so stop glaring at me."

Retreating footsteps.

Running water.

"Master, where's my towel?"

"On the rack, where it has always been. You would be more acquainted with the refresher's layout if you actually spent some time within its walls."

"Oh. Right. Thank you!"

Gargling sounds.

"Anakin, do not brush your teeth while you wash your hair. You will only get hair products in your mouth."

"Nuh-uh!"

"Yes."

"Nuh-uaaaahhhhh!"

"Once again, I am correct."

Gagging noises.

"Once, I was also a raw young padawan. But instead of forgetting about my bad experiences, I retained those memories and learned from my mistakes. That is what you must do, Anakin. You must take these unfortunate situations you find yourself in and utilize the knowledge you have gained from them for your own personal growth. Now, if you find yourself pressed for time, will you attempt to multi-task while showering? Of course not. All you must do is recall the horrid taste in your mouth at this current moment and remember the time you attempted to combine activities."

"Ehhh. I really hate you."

"Hatred leads to the Dark Side."

"I don't care."

"I shall pretend I didn't hear that. Three minutes."

Silence.

Rustling sounds.

"Anakin, please . . ."

"I'M HURRYING! Sithspit, stop nagging me!"

"I merely do not want to be late to another Council meeting. Like last time. And the time before."

"That wasn't my fault."

"Yes, I'm sure that you truly were delayed by ravening piranha beetles."

"Flutterflies, Master. And they were swarming at my face."

"In the one of the turbolifts of the Jedi Temple?"

"Someone was trying to play a prank on me."

"Aren't they all. Are you nearly ready?"

Groaning.

"Uh, yeah. Be right there."

Shuffling noises.

"My tardy young padawan, I am waiting."

"Here!"

"Ah. You look clean. You smell pleasant for a change. Excellent job."

"Thank you very much. And we'll be on time."

"Assuredly. I am amazed."

"What did you expect, Master? Mass chaos and confusion?"

"No, just another ordinary day."

"Hahaha."

"I was not kidding."

"Oh. Sorry."

Door opening.

"Apology accepted, my unpredictable young padawan. You may go first."

"I always go first."

"Anakin . . ."

Door closing.

Silence.

FIN

* * *

NEXT- _I Hate Nerf  
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	4. I Hate Nerf

**AN:** Inspired by different incidents that have occurred during family outings – ma famille is very evil. And since I've been mixing prose styles, I settled for a good ole third-person narrative. Don't worry, though – Obi-Wan's journal should return in vignette 6. And beaucoup thanks to **oba**, for betaing.

* * *

**-MORE THAN HIS MASTER-  
**_The Education of Anakin Skywalker  
Simple Words_  
_Ordinary Day  
I Hate Nerf  
Memories of Home  
Portrait of a Stubborn Padawan  
Seller of Dreams_

**

* * *

**

**Part IV- I Hate Nerf**

Their mission had been going well, up until their hosts brought out their dinner.

Seated on two makeshift tables scattered around the campsite, Obi-Wan and Siri and their respective padawans had been expecting a meat dish of some sort. The Devaronians had made quite a show of displaying the wild nerf they had caught; their leader had detailed the hunting experience for two tedious hours.

But Obi-Wan had not realized that their hosts preferred their meat to be undercooked, to put it lightly.

"Master . . ."

He kept his eyes on the Devaronians, a gracious smile plastered on his face. "What? Do you sense something?"

A period of awkward silence elapsed, then he heard Anakin shift in his seat and sigh noisily. "No, it's not that, Master . . ."

Obi-Wan glanced around the camp anxiously, trying to catch Siri's eye. Seated about ten meters from her table, he had to strain to get her attention. She raised an eyebrow, her expression irritatingly blank, then returned to playing with her food. Ferus also seemed cautiously focused on his dinner. He saw nothing to unsettle his padawan in such a perplexing way.

"Clearly, this problem of yours does not relate to the safety or integrity of our mission in any way, for Jedi Tachi seems to have noticed nothing. Am I correct?"

Anakin picked up his fork and began to tap it on the corner of the table. "Yes, Master."

Obi-Wan turned to fix his stare on his very fidgety padawan. "Then what is it?" he asked quietly.

"It's just . . . I can't eat this."

"Anakin, what have I told you about—"

His padawan rolled his eyes, his discomfort visibly increasing. "Obi-Wan, I like food. Really. You know that. And I'm grateful that the Devaronians have provided us with a meal. But . . . I can't eat the nerf."

Obi-Wan looked at him exasperatingly. "You told me once that you love nerf. And you always eat mine."

"Yeah, well, that's 'cause it's cooked. This meat is raw! It's still bleeding, for Force's sake!"

"We must respect the customs of our hosts, Anakin. They have given us a generous meal, and to refuse to eat it would be an insult towards them."

"Master, I'm very appreciative of free food. But I'm not going to risk food poisoning just to show my gratitude. I mean, look at it!"

He glanced down at his own dish rather quickly. His padawan was slightly correct, for the meat did look very unappetizing. Picking up a knife, he prodded it tentatively, and was forced to avert his gaze when a mixture of blood, water, and slimy green liquid came oozing forth.

"It does appear to be quite disgusting. But Jedi Tachi and Padawan Olin are eating it, so—"

"They're not."

Obi-Wan narrowed his eyes skeptically. "Anakin, observe. The amount of nerf on their plates has been slowly decreasing. Normally, that indicates that the food is being consumed."

"Yeah, Master, but have you noticed how the meat seems to magically disappear before reaching their mouths? Siri and Ferus are _cheating_ – I just know it."

He exhaled loudly. "Perhaps. I would not put it past them. But we must not make judgments, my impatient young padawan, until we have tasted it ourselves."

Anakin shook his head violently, horror spreading across his face. "No. No no no. I'm not even touching that . . . slab of grossness."

"Excuse me?"

Anakin groaned, then sank lower in his seat. "Come on, Master. It's totally gross. _You_ take a bite, and I'll base my opinion on what you think."

Obi-Wan snuck a glance down at the meat again. Thick goop still trickled from the bloody slice, rather like slime from the mouth of a Hutt. He clapped a hand to his mouth and gulped down bile – even the memory of those giant slugs made him nauseous. "Why do I have the feeling that you are manipulating me?"

"Because I am."

"Sometimes I think that you should have become a politician, my devious young padawan."

Anakin adopted a look of wounded pride. "That hurt, Master. I'm just trying to be like you."

"I rather hope not." Obi-Wan took a deep breath, steeling himself for the task awaiting him. "Since you currently lack the maturity to try new things, I will taste the nerf. And I expect that your fears will be found unsubstantiated. Ferus has not complained about the meal."

"Ferus has a cold," Anakin remarked, snickering disrespectfully. "He can't smell, and all he's been doing is sniffling and sneezing. He's so out of it right now that he could walk by a rotting carcass and not even blink."

His padawan leaned forward, setting his elbows on the table. "Besides," he whispered conspiratorially, "Ferus Olin is the _perfect_ apprentice. He always follows orders, and he would never consider putting his needs before those of 'the mission.' He's an annoying overachiever. I bet if he wasn't cheating, he'd actually eat this . . . blob."

"Anakin," Obi-Wan said warningly. "Not again. I am terminating this discussion. We should be eating, not gossiping about our fellow Jedi."

Anakin frowned, his eyes downcast. "Fine. You eat; I'll keep my thoughts to myself. Force be with you, Master – I think that slab might be from the Dark Side, though, so that might not be much help."

"Thank you. Your optimism is much appreciated."

Obi-Wan turned back to the meat, cleared his thoughts, and stabbed the slice delicately. More ooze dripped from the blood red tissue – ignoring Anakin's stifled giggles, he squeezed his eyes shut and cut off an ample piece.

And against his better judgment, he raised the fork to his mouth and began to chew.

Revulsion overtook him immediately. The nerf wasn't merely bad – it was absolutely vile. Choking back the urge to gag, he tried to swallow some of the gooey liquid to see if it alleviated the taste. It only made the sensation worse. Torn between whether to spit out the meat and wash his mouth thoroughly, or gulp down the partially chewed mush and accept the gastric consequences, Obi-Wan forced it all down . . . and nearly lost consciousness in the process.

He grabbed his cup, pouring cool, soothing water down his throat in an attempt to rid the sickening flavour from his mouth. He was aware that Anakin was gloating – and Siri, no doubt, was shaking her head at his stupidity. But he didn't care about that. All that mattered was that he keep himself from retching.

"Told you," Anakin whispered knowingly.

"Eahmayuck!" Obi-Wan replied.

He drained his glass, then forced his tongue to form intelligible words. "I am not disputing your original claim, my artless young padawan. I agree that the nerf is inedible, and not something a humanoid stomach can tolerate."

Anakin grinned. "It was just intuition, Master. Man cannot live by reason alone."

Obi-Wan assented gravely. "I have slowly been coming to that realization. But thank you for the repetition."

"So, if we can't eat it . . . what do we do?"

He looked around the camp thoughtfully, noting that the Devaronians were distracted – chasing down an escaping youngling, it seemed. "We dispose of the meat quietly and discreetly, then thank our hosts for their delicious and satisfying meal."

"But Master! That'd be lying! Wouldn't that be considered a rather selfish action?"

"Absolutely not. We are protecting our own personal health, and – through that – a greater good. Even Master Yoda would agree with that."

Anakin nodded, scoping out their table and the surrounding campsite for a decent hiding place. "There's some bushes over by Ferus's table. Could we . . . ?"

"Hmm. If we bury them, it might disguise the scent." One of the Devaronians hollered to the others, apparently spotting the missing child, and they began to run towards the cooking fire. Obi-Wan rose, grabbed his plate, and started to sneak towards the bushes. "Hurry, before they return."

He weaved around rocks and pieces of equipment, ducking down once he reached Siri and Ferus's table and making sure their hosts were still occupied. He heard Anakin drop down behind him, then watched as his padawan quickly dug a small hole with his fork.

"A little deeper, Anakin . . ."

"It's fine, it's fine, throw 'em in!"

Obi-Wan flipped the pieces of nerf into the hole, then used his knife to help Anakin fill it back in. Spreading the dirt around, he leveled it off then smiled with relief.

"Ah. Excellent. Now, back to our table."

They stood up, turned around, and found themselves caught in Siri's frigid blue stare.

"Busted," Anakin muttered.

Her eyes flicked from their soiled clothing to their empty plates to their plainly embarrassed expressions. Her lips quirked into a half smile, and she winked. "Lovely disposal site, Obi-Wan. I was about to tell you that our hosts have offered to bring us more . . . appetizing . . . entrées. But since you and Anakin seem to have put away all your nerf, I'll just tell them that you two aren't hungry anymore."

She strode off jauntily, heading towards the returning Devaronians. Anakin stared at her retreating figure and groaned. "Master, I _really_ hate nerf."

"So do I," Obi-Wan said, shaking his head and following her with his eyes. "So do I."

FIN

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NEXT- "Memories of Home." Thanks for clicking! 


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